


You helped me see myself

by Ivyandtheholly



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Broken Eggsy, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Violence, Eventual Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Explicit Sexual Content, Internalized Acephobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, No Daisy, POV Eggsy Unwin, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, ace Eggsy, angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 15:05:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12301680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivyandtheholly/pseuds/Ivyandtheholly
Summary: Eggsy blames himself for his mothers abuse, and sacrifices his safety, and innocence to protect her. But how will this effect his relationship with Harry Hart?





	You helped me see myself

**Author's Note:**

> Warning!! Abuse!! Graphic!! Also Daisy isn’t in this fic, sorry to any fans of domestic/paternal Eggsy. I’ll switch between introspection and plot throughot, all from Eggsy’s pov. Angsty!! I wrote this to be angsty

  
Eggsy didn’t sign up for this shit. When he was in danger, that was okay. He was able to keep a level head. But when it came to the people he cared about; when it came to his family, he lost all sense of self preservation. That selfless attitude always got him into deep shit.  
But sometimes, Eggsy wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t fast enough, couldn’t punch hard enough. And then, the people he loved got hurt, and Eggsy was the only one to blame.  
~  
When Eggsy opened the door to the apartment, he didn’t expect to be greeted by the scene in front of him.  
Dean towered above his mother, his fist raised in a threatening manner. His mother lay on the floor, arms curled protectively around her head in a feeble attempt to defend herself.  
Pieces of shattered glass framed her prone form, the remains of a broken beer bottle forming a dangerous halo.  
Dean turned to greet Eggsy, lips curled into a derisive sneer. As he looked in horror the tableau before him, Dean directed his attention to his stepson.  
A volley of blows shook Eggsy out of his reverie, the punches raining down without mercy. But as he fell into to the routine of a cowering victim, Eggsy was wracked by relief and guilt in turn.  
With Dean’s attention focused on him, his mother was spared her husband’s abuse. Eggsy would endure a lifetime of torture to secure his mother’s safety, but guilt now ate at his heart. He hadn’t protected her.  
He’d been suffocating in the small, rundown apartment, and had gone for a walk in an attempt to clear his head. He’d stupidly assumed that Dean would remain in bed ‘til past noon, last night’s hangover distracting him from his anger. That assumption had led to the pool of blood around his mother’s head, the tremors of pain that wracked her body.  
Dean gave Eggsy a final kick to the stomach, returning to his bedroom with a beer bottle in hand.  
~  
Eggsy didn’t remember when exactly it first started. He couldn’t pinpoint when he’d become a punching bag. He couldn’t recall when he sacrificed his own safety for his mother’s. All he remembered was when Dean’s arguments with his mother got louder, when Eggsy started feeling afraid when his step dad got home. When screamed insults turned to slaps, then punching and kicking. Eggsy tried to defend her, and as he got older he realised he couldn’t protect them both.  
Eggsy told himself he didn’t regret anything he’d done. But those were lies told only to ease his mind. He tried to tell himself it was worth it, that his abuse had meant something.  
But it hadn’t been enough  
~  
When Eggsy finally regained his senses enough to take stock of his surroundings, the only evidence of his mother’s presence was a carpet of blood and glass. Eggsy felt bile rise in his throat as the stains of Michelle’s injuries soaked into the floor.  
He forced himself to his feet, body trembling with pain and guilt, staggering to the bathroom, he heaved the contents of his stomach up, putrid vomit contrasting against the toilet bowl.  
Locking the bathroom door, he relished in the fleeting sense of safety, thoughts turning to his mother’s injuries. He’d failed her.


End file.
